Funny Girl
by glassamilk
Summary: Denmark is really bad at getting her bestest bro Netherlands to appreciate her finer attributes. Netherlands/Fem!Denmark.


Rainstorms in Denmark are rarely a good thing.

A cold breeze leads to wind, which leads to rain, which leads to thunder and lightning, which never fails to drop a torrential whirlwind right on Netherlands' doorstep. Denmark never announces that she is coming over when it rains, but he knows to expect it, and when the door slams and is followed by the sound of boots stomping down the hall to the kitchen, he knows that it's time to turn off the television and prepare to spend the rest of the night indoors. He tosses the remote on the coffee table and follows the smears of dirt that she's tracked in with her, and leans against the doorframe while he watches her dig through the fridge.

"Beer's where it always is," he drawls. "Second drawer."

"I know where it is." A bag of cabbage flops onto the floor and she ignores it. "Ya don't have enough."

"There's at least six in there, Den."

"Not enough."

He sighs and pushes off of the frame, opting instead to fold his arms over the refrigerator door. "What happened?"

She huffs and straightens up, nearly bashing him in the nose with her head as she does. "Nothing happened!"

"It's raining."

"I know it's raining."

"You're always upset when it rains."

She screws her face up. "Not _all_ the time."

He shrugs. "Most of the time."

Denmark growls and shoves an armful of beer over for him to carry. "I want to smoke." She breezes past him while he manages to maneuver the cabbage back onto the shelf with his foot. "Can we smoke? I want the good stuff."

"I always save the good stuff for you."

She looks over her shoulder and grins at him. "'Course y'do!"

She disappears into the hall again and he rolls his eyes, nudging the refrigerator door shut with his knee and hauling the beer out into the living room. While he drops everything down onto the table, she makes herself at home on the couch, unlacing her boots and kicking them off into the corner of the room alongside the bulky overcoat she always wears. He watches her carefully as he pries the caps off of the bottles. She's smiling from somewhere behind the mane of tangled, blonde hair that keeps slipping over her shoulder, but she doesn't look very relaxed. Netherlands knows she has a tendency to blow things out of proportion, but she's hardly a high strung person, and the stiff angle of her shoulders is enough to make him raise an eyebrow.

"So," he says, pressing a beer into her outstretched hand. "What happened?"

"I told ya. Nothin'."

He sits down beside her. "Liar."

She purses her lips and leans back against the arm of the couch. "I thought we were rolling up."

Netherlands nods. "Yeah, yeah." He sets his drink down on the table and bends to reach for the box on the little shelf beneath the glass. "Paper or plastic?"

"Paper."

While he pinches off precise measurements, he watches Denmark drown herself in her first beer, chugging the whole thing down in one go without pausing for air. "Slow down, you're gonna choke."

She scowls and shoves the now empty bottle onto the floor. "Prussia said I'm funny."

He slips the joint into his mouth and lights it. "So?" He blows smoke out of the corner of his mouth. "S'a compliment; yer hilarious."

She groans and slides down the back of the sofa, turtling up into her sweater. "Not you too."

"What's wrong with bein' funny?"

She heaves a sigh and it blows the loose strands of hair away from her broad forehead. "There's nothin' wrong with being funny."

"So what's the problem?"

She glares at him from over the neck of her second beer and he holds his hands up in surrender.

"Sorry," he offers her the smoke. "Just thought y'might want to talk about it."

Denmark makes a low, frustrated sound and pauses in drawing the joint to her lips, letting it hang between two fingers, staring into the couch cushions. "I don't _like_ being told I'm funny."

"Why not?"

"Because." Her frown deepens. "That's all anybody ever says about me."

Netherlands raises an eyebrow and leans back on his elbows, eying her curiously. "That's hardly a bad thing t'be called. Could be worse."

"Yeah, I know, but…" she growls in exasperation. "It'd be nice to be something else now and then!"

"Like what?"

She scowls and says nothing.

Netherlands sighs. "_Like?_"

"I don't know!" She snaps. "I just want to _not_ be everyone's hilarious friend sometimes." She waves her hand in front of her face, wrinkling her nose like she's trying to blow away a sour smell. "Whenever anyone's talkin' about the other girls it's always something like 'oooh, that Ukraine is such a sweetheart' or 'have you met my gorgeous friend Taiwan?'" She rakes her fingers through her hair, yanking them out when they catch on the knots. "Even Hungary gets stuff like that and she can bench just as much as I can!"

Netherlands stares at her, fighting the urge to burst out laughing because he knows it will earn him a fist to the face if he does. "Denmark," he coughs, half a suppressed chuckle, half serious. "Do you want someone to say yer pretty?"

Her face goes red and she clamps the joint between her lips, inhaling and holding it.

"You do, don't ya?"

She rolls her eyes and blows smoke into the potted plant on the side table. "_No,_ I'm just sayin' it'd be nice to have my finer features appreciated." She swaps the weed with him in exchange for another beer.

"Such as?"

She squints at him. "Whadya mean 'such as'?"

"I mean," he takes a long drag. "Like what?"

"I don't know!" She growls and throws her hands up. "Like my natural feminine grace or beautiful, flaxen tresses or my excellent rack! Y'know," she gestures angrily. "Girl stuff!"

Netherlands can't stop the grin that breaks out on his face. "But you have none of those."

The briefest flash of something akin to hurt darts across her face before it disappears into a glare and she folds her arms in front of herself. "Fine then, my cankles, the gap in my teeth, and my ability to do a keg stand." She huffs. "I don't care."

He shakes his head and nudges her legs with his foot. "What do you need anyone's approval for? Yer just fine like you are."

She's quiet for a moment. "So, y'don't think I'm good lookin'?"

"Didn't say that." He leans back against the couch. "S'this really botherin' you that much?"

"No, it's not."

"Which is why you're here rainin' on my house."

"No, I'm just sayin' that-"

"Den."

"_What?_"

"You're getting' ashes on my couch."

She jumps to her feet and swats out the smolder on the cushions, leaving behind a black streak. "Eugh, sorry. Wasn't payin' attention."

"Y'never do."

"Gimme a break, I'm high."

He sighs and grabs her arm, pulling her down to sit in his lap. "Chill out," he grumbles when she stiffens. "Let's just watch a movie or somethin' 'til you sober up, then I'll drive you to the ferry terminal."

She slouches a bit and leans back against his chest, staring at the TV when he turns it on. "Can I just stay here tonight?"

"Sure."

"Good." She finally relaxes and sprawls out. "And I ain't sleepin' in the guest room. Your bed is more comfortable."

"When have you ever slept in my guest room?"

She pauses, turning her head up, eyelashes brushing against the bottom of Netherlands' chin. "Y'know, I don't think I even know what it looks like."

"That's 'cause it doesn't exist. I don't have a guest room." He reaches out and swats her knee, bumping her legs together. "Quit sittin' like a dude, I can't see through your thighs."

She tenses again, but says nothing and closes her legs.

* * *

Three days after Netherlands pries Denmark out of his bed, she calls him at one in the morning and demands an audience.

"Hey, we're going out for dinner on Friday," she says, not waiting long enough for him to wake up and greet her. "It's a nice place, so look nice."

"Today is Friday."

"No, tomorrow is Friday."

He rolls over onto his back and kicks the blankets down. "D'ya know what time it is?"

"No." A pause. A rustle of fabric. "Oh."

Nonetheless, he agrees to meet her at seven o'clock.

* * *

At seven-thirty, standing alone in the lobby of Noma in a freshly pressed blazer, Netherlands begins to wonder if he has been stood up. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see the staff growing impatient with his attempts to stall in order to keep their reservation (the one under _her_ name) and his insistence that his friend must just be stuck in traffic. He does his best to stay out of their hair, but being a single man standing alone by the doors, glaring out the glass, is not his finest technique and as he checks his watch for what must be the hundredth time, the concierge approaches him with a waning smile.

"Sir," she says, nodding toward the door. "Have you heard from your partner at all?"

He sighs loudly and shakes his head. "No, she's not pickin' up her phone."

"Ah, well, I'm afraid we can't hold the reservation any longer." She looks nervous under his frown. "There is a wait list, you see…"

He doesn't hear her finish the end of her sentence. He's too distracted by the crash that comes from hall behind her and the mess of pink tulle that stumbles into the lobby in its wake. Clinging to the wall above a shattered vase, face turned down, a tall blonde wobbles into the waiting space, reminding Netherlands very much of a baby horse learning to walk by the way she shuffles along, legs far too long for the dress she's wearing and obviously uncomfortable in heels. She curses and scoots down the wall, stooped against it as she tries to gather up the pieces of broken pottery, and Netherlands gets to her before the awkward waitress can.

"Here," he kneels down next to her and shoos her hands away. "Let me get that for… you…"

The words curl up and die in his mouth as the blonde finally turns to face him, eyes bugging out like an owl caught in a tornado. Eyes that are wearing way too much shadow. Eyes that have false lashes half attached.

Eyes that he knows very, very well.

"Den?"

"Ooooh, shit, um…" her gaze flits to the waitress then back to him. "What's up, 'land?"

He blinks at her. "You're late."

"Yeah, about that." She coughs and when she tries to straighten up, her knees quake dangerously. "Sorry. Lost track of the time."

Netherlands rises as well and takes a step back. "You look… different."

Understatement of the millennium. Denmark, of all people, is wearing a dress. A bright pink, fluffy, satin _dress_ that was obviously made for someone much shorter than her, with just as pink high-heels that look like they would be much better suited to fooling around in the bedroom than dining in one of the most acclaimed restaurants in the world. She has it matched with jewelry—big jewelry. The earrings look like they weigh as much as her purse (_purse!_) does and he is pretty sure he could chain up his bike with the necklace she has tangled up in her hair.

Oh.

_Her hair._

"What did you do to your hair?"

She looks sheepish. "Brushed it?"

To say the least. It looks like she tried to curl it in some places but the ringlets never took, leaving her with lumpy, uneven waves in the ends and stiff looking comb-tracks in her bangs where she has attempted to clip her unruly locks down with plastic barrettes.

He stares at her.

She stares at him.

She looks…

"Um, sir? Ma'am?" The waitress snaps him back to, what he hopes, is real life, and gestures to the dining room. "If you want to keep your reservation, we'll have to seat you now."

"Oh! Right!" Denmark takes a careful step forward, holding both arms out at her sides like she is walking across a balance beam and not a polished floor. "Sorry 'bout that!"

She teeters gracelessly and Netherlands sighs, placing one hand on the small of her back and grabbing her wrist with the other, steering her to follow the waitress. As soon as they are within sight, every other patron in the restaurant gawks at her and her flamboyant gown. She must notice their staring, for a moment later she turns her chin up, setting her jaw and gliding between the tables, putting on a show of poise and elegance.

For all of about one second.

Her ankle rolls and Netherlands can't catch her before her elbow slams against the table next to them and makes the dinnerware (and the diners) jump. "Ah, fuck!" She yanks her arm in and cradles it against her chest as Netherlands pulls her up. She bites her lip, not really looking at the now silent dining room, and waves sheepishly. "I mean, uh, sorry. Sorry, everybody!"

The waitress stands, embarrassed, while Netherlands pulls out Denmark's chair. Once they are both seated, she places the course menus down for them. "I'll just go get that bottle of wine you reserved, ma'am," she says, a bit too collected to be genuine. "I'll be back in just a moment."

As soon as she's gone, Netherlands nearly falls across the table laughing. "Holy shit, Denmark, what are you doin'?" He leans back and gestures to her. "What is all this?"

She scowls and snatches up her menu. "It's a nice place! Y'gotta look nice!"

"Den, every time we've gone out for a nice meal, you've worn exactly what I'm wearin'." He points to his blazer. "I've never seen you wear a dress before. And I knew you in the godddamn renaissance."

She doesn't look up and shifts, tugging her bodice up. "What am I, on trial? It's not a big deal or anything." She slaps her menu down and grabs the hem of dress and yanks on it with both hands.

"Problem?"

"It won't stay up."

He stares at her. "It's a strapless dress."

"I _know_ that."

"So, why'd you wear it then? You've got about as much chance of holdin' up a strapless dress as I do."

She clenches her jaw and glares at him. "If you must know, it used to have straps on it, but they wouldn't go on right because my shoulders were too wide, so I cut them off because I thought it would look better. But then it wouldn't stay on so I called Ukraine, because she always wears strapless dresses, and she said I should use double-sided tape to help keep it up, but now I just have tape everywhere and it's makin' my nipples itch."

Netherlands blinks placidly. "Your nipples."

"Are you deaf or something?"

"Aren't ya wearin' a bra?"

"A what?"

He has to bite his tongue. It's just all too much.

Denmark grabs a hunk of bread and bites into it. "Nothin' wrong with dressin' up…" she grumbles, unknowingly spitting crumbs onto the white tablecloth. "It's, y'know. Fun, or whatever."

"Right." Netherlands coughs into his fist. "Well, you, uh…" He clears his throat. "Ya look good, Den. Real pretty."

She turns her eyes up and faces him. "Really?"

She has butter on her face.

"Yeah…"

A break of silence.

"This is really awkward, huh?"

"Extremely."

"People are starin', aren't they?"

"There's not a single person here who isn't lookin' at ya."

"Probably not 'cause they like the dress."

"Probably not."

She sighs and drops the remaining bread back into the basket. "Can we go?"

"Yeah." He bends under the table and picks up the shoes she discarded as soon as they were seated. "I've got a change of clothes in my car."

* * *

After a quick change in the backseat of Netherlands' car, they drive to the waterfront where Denmark pads across the grass in her bare feet to wash her face in the drinking fountain by the bike path. She scrubs at the makeup with her hands, but without the aid of soap, she just manages to smear it around and gives up after her cheeks start to get raw. She ties her hair up with a rubber band found in Netherlands' jeans, and by the time they sit down on the bench in the park, she's starting to look like her old self again.

She's being too quiet, though.

"You okay?"

She sighs and puts down the piece of bread she's been nibbling on since pilfering it from the restaurant in her purse. "Yeah." She tears off the crust and tosses it in the water for the ducks to chase. "I just feel really stupid about this."

He hums in understanding and leans back, one arm casually rested on the back of the bench. "I think ya took the dress code a little too literally."

Denmark huffs and stuffs the last of the bread into her mouth, chewing angrily. "I just wanted to try lookin' good for once." She scrubs her fingers through her hair. "I even went and got highlights. Whatever that means."

"Is this because of what Prussia said the other day?" He asks, cautious, aware that it's a sore issue.

"No," she snaps.

He stares at her.

"Okay, yes, fine." She slumps down, pulling Netherlands' jacket tighter around her shoulders. "After I left your place, I went and I bought a bunch of stupid girly magazines that had stupid tutorials on how to do stupid things like make-up. But then nothing looked right and I ruined the dress. And don't even get me started on those stupid shoes." She sighs miserably. "I spent an hour in the bathroom just trying to work up the balls to be seen in public looking so ridiculous."

He nods. "Is that why you were late?"

"Yeah."

"I don't get it." He sits up and turns, just a bit, so that he can face her. "Does it really bug you this much? You've never cared what people think of you before, so why the change?"

She pauses for a moment, looking down at her feet. "I _don't_ care what other people think."

"So then what's the problem?"

She shoots him an unamused frown. "I already made an ass of myself once tonight. I ain't doin' it again."

"Den…" he warns.

She growls and flops over against him, knocking her head into his shoulder. "C'mon, 'land. Gimme a break. You're my best friend, y'know? I don't want to fuck anything up."

_That_ catches his attention. "Well, fuck, Den, you're my best friend too. That's why I want to know why this is bugging ya so much." He loops an arm around her shoulders and gives her a firm squeeze. "If something's upsetting you, I wanna know what it is."

She turns her face up and looks at him, mascara smudged around her eyes and lines of lipstick stuck into the dry cracks of her lips, studying him for a few seconds. "I don't care if everybody else thinks I'm pretty," she says. "I just wanted _you_ to think so."

Oh.

_Ohh._

"Wait, so you put that dress on for me?"

She groans and buries her face in her hands. "I know, I know. It's lame."

He can't help himself. He feels awful about it, but he just _can't handle it_ and bursts out laughing. The kind of laughter that he can't even begin to hide; the kind that makes his stomach hurt and his eyes water. Denmark looks mortified for a split second before she shoves away from him and punches him square in the jaw, knocking him off of the bench still in complete hysterics. She starts to stalk back in the direction of the car, but Netherlands manages to haul himself upright fast enough to catch her arm and drag her back.

"Wait, wait, wait," he snorts. He tries to compose himself—fails. "Siddown, hold on."

"You're an asshole, 'land." She sits down with a huff. "Never shoulda gotten dressed up for you." She kicks his knees. "I even shaved my armpits, you dick."

He clamps his teeth around his tongue and swallows the next wave of cackles before they can escape, dropping an arm on her shoulder, prompting her to stay seated. "You've got it all wrong, idiot." He inhales to get his breath back and straightens up. "I'm laughin' because you really thought I'd be into somethin' like that."

Denmark's eyes narrow and she squints at him. "Whadya mean?"

"I mean," he sits down next to her. "You're stupid for thinkin' I'd like ya any more than I already do by bein' somethin' you're not." He gestures to all of her. "You're fine the way ya are, Den. If ya wanted my attention, you coulda just asked."

She gapes at him. "Are you serious?"

"'Course I'm serious. Besides," he leans back and fishes a pack of cigarettes out of his coat. "You're taller than me when ya wear heels. S'weird." He offers her a smoke and waits for her to take one before continuing. "Next time ya want a date, just be up front about it. We can go sailing or somethin'."

Denmark blinks at him. Netherlands reaches out and peels the false eyelashes off.

"Wait, so…" she recoils slightly. "You're not mad? About me likin' ya?"

He reaches over and lights her cigarette. "Denmark, we've been havin' sex with each other for over a hundred years. I was under the impression we were already somethin' like together."

Her newly waxed eyebrows come together and she stares at him. He uses the tip of one finger to close her jaw enough to keep the cigarette from falling out. For a moment, she does nothing but _look_ at him and he begins to wonder if maybe he handled this whole situation wrong, but her face breaks out in a wide grin and she socks him in the shoulder, nearly knocking him sideways, and blows smoke into the night air.

"You're such a bastard!" She laughs. "Why didn't ya ever say anything? This has been killing me for years!"

He shrugs and rights himself. "Never had a reason too. Like I said, I already thought we were together." He crosses his index and middle fingers, wiggling them in her face. "Pretty sure everyone else thinks so too."

"I am so going to kick your ass when we get back to my house."

He grins and slips an arm around her waist. "So, I'm stayin' over tonight?"

"Yep." She leans forward and snuffs out her cigarette on the edge of the bench. "But don't get too excited. I'm just gonna break your face. Nothin' else."

"Haha." He drawls. "Hilarious."

"What can I say?" She smirks and pulls him to his feet.

"I'm a funny girl."

-END-


End file.
